


None. Unless anyone has any ideas.

by supergrover24



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-26
Updated: 2004-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supergrover24/pseuds/supergrover24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius is back. Things aren't what they used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	None. Unless anyone has any ideas.

Sirius couldn’t help it, not really.

He knew things were different now...since he’d come back through the veil. He thought people would be happy to see him, overjoyed even. Well, at least Harry and Remus. Maybe even Molly Wealsey. The only reaction he did predict correctly was Snivellus’. 

Snape had been incredulous, his sallow complexion turning paler than Sirius had ever thought possible. Then he’d sneered, turned on his heel, and left Grimmauld Place in a swirl of black fabric. 

Sirius laughed at that, and suddenly he felt that everything might be okay.

That is, until he saw Harry, who didn’t react at all like he should. He should have been overjoyed. He should have run up and hugged him and thanked Merlin that his beloved godfather had come back to him.

Instead, Harry turned paler than Snape and started backing away, until he backed right into Remus. Moony. 

_Remus._

Who had drawn his arms up to grip Harry’s shoulders, and squeezed. Not in the fatherly, “It’ll be okay son, you’ll be fine,” way either. It was the squeeze of a lover, reassuring his partner that he was there, and wouldn’t leave him, and that should have been his squeeze, not Harry’s.

It _had_ been his squeeze, once upon a time before Voldemort, and Azkaban, and fucking veils and evil cousins. That squeeze, and other touches that often came after were supposed to be his. 

Even if they hadn’t been his since he was eighteen.

And now, he was watching Harry get those touches. His touches.

Sirius hadn’t intended to watch. The last thing he wanted to see was his godson on his back, legs up on Moony’s shoulders, hands gripping the railing on the headboard as he arched his back. But Sirius found he couldn’t walk past the open door, angling himself so he could see the mirror hanging on the wall reflecting the sweaty, naked bodies on the bed. He watched Remus thrust into Harry, one hand covering Harry’s on the headboard, the other wrapped in the tangle of black hair that wasn’t long enough to be his.

He stood watching, picturing himself on the bed, trying to work up the nerve to interrupt or join; he wasn’t sure which he wanted more. Then his other senses kicked in and he heard them. Not just the bedsprings creaking or the slap of flesh on flesh. Sirius heard Harry’s whispers, begging Remus not to leave him, to stay, to love him, and the repeated “I’m here, I’m staying, I love you’s,” that came in a voice he’d dreamt of for years.

When he’d been “beyond the veil,” as Dumbledore termed it, he fervently wished for Harry to take ownership of Grimmauld Place; to make it the home he’d never had. 

Sirius hated that his wish had come true.  



End file.
